


Conquest and Surrender

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-12
Updated: 2005-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:56:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3061772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy learns a few things about dominance, Draco, and the colour pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conquest and Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> I like Pansy.

Pansy Parkinson is a top.

Not that she'd known that before, but after a painful, stilted confession to Blaise about the images and pictures she kept having every time she'd think about sex, she came out of it knowing she was a top and that it was "a damned good thing" she was betrothed to Draco Malfoy.

She didn't know why that was, exactly, but Blaise was laughing and Pansy already felt ridiculous, so she decided it would be better to laugh along with him and puzzle over the whole thing in private. As it was, she'd already made a horrible mistake in confessing to Blaise in the first place, revealing something private, which was exactly the opposite everything a proper Slytherin was supposed to think.

Sometimes, when she's alone with her hand between trembling thighs, she thinks she might have done better in Gryffindor or -- when she's _really_ far gone -- Hufflepuff, but the past can't be changed (or rather, if it had been, things would be that way already), so that night Pansy fists her sheets and ignores the throb between her legs as Blaise's words flip over in her head.

Pansy is a top, and that fact makes marrying Draco a good thing. She scrunches up her nose.

To her dismay, denying her urges don't bring about some epiphany about Blaise's cryptic words, so she guiltily hikes up the hated ruffled hem of her nightgown, and lets her fingers travel familiar paths -- clever circles, slow in-outs, the lightest pinches -- before muffling a cry in her pillow, making sure Millicent and Tracey can't hear the long, low exhale that pushes her into sleep.

\---

Pansy Parkinson hates pink.

Her mother thinks the very idea is absolutely unacceptable, so she insists on sending pink item after pink item -- robes and lacy underthings and bedclothes -- some of which she wears out of desperation or the fierce desire to please her mother, something that she knows is desperation of another kind. Pansy likes her school robes, likes the silver and green accents that are only visible if one _really_ looks because black and silver and green all look very good with her colouring.

Of course, she only knows that because Blaise and Draco told her, after which Blaise started laughing again and asked if Draco could have all of her pink things when they set up house together because the colour suited him. Pansy had been surprised to see Draco's face flush, and equally surprised when he hadn't denied Blaise's words. She studied him intently, until he docilely dropped his head. For the first time she could remember, Draco Malfoy was speechless.

Pansy found that she liked it when Draco looked away and as the flush spread further, staining high on his cheekbones, and low on his throat, she decided Blaise had been right.

Pansy hates pink, but maybe not as much as she thought.

\---

Pansy Parkinson likes to watch.

No one needed to tell her that because she discovered it on her own. Being a Prefect has its advantages, and none, other than the satisfaction of taking a load of points from an unsuspecting Gryffindor, beats being able to wander the corridors at all hours. She and Draco typically patrolled together, but they decided to split up in order to get more of the school covered in less time.

It had been his idea, which probably should have set off alarms in her head, but Pansy has always been too trusting, and besides, Draco almost always conceded to her now, especially when she would stare at him. Mostly, she did it so she could see him blush again, but a thrill not unlike the one she got with her hand between her legs always accompanied his little unthinking head dip.

The worries she'd had about being a Malfoy wife disappear by the day, or they had been, until she heard the noise, and took off down the hall at a run.

\---

Harry Potter is a top, too.

Pansy finally gets what Blaise has been laughing about all this time, when she stutters to a halt in front of the open classroom. Potter has Draco trapped against the chalkboard; Pansy has her wand drawn and is ready to take aim before the noise -- the same noise she heard before -- stops her. She finally focuses on Draco, whose eyes are half-closed, head tilted back in a gesture of submission, and she sees Potter's leg insinuated between Draco's thighs, separating them, grinding down, reminding her of nights with the hem pushed up and moans muffled into clashing pink sheets.

Only--

Only Draco's not holding back his sounds, not one bit, and she hears things that sound like _Potter_ and _more_ and _please_ and _now_ and _**Harry**_ and the blush on his face is the one that's supposed to be _hers_ , the only pink thing she thought she liked until Draco's tongue pokes out to touch his lips, then Potter's tongue twines around Draco's and it's wet and pink and hot, and Pansy would hate this if she wasn't so turned on by what she sees.

 _She_ wants to do this, _she_ wants to dominate Draco like this, like she does in her dreams where he's secured to her bed and she orders him to watch her, and he does, blushing and sweating and _open_ , looking exactly the way he's looking at Potter now.

When Draco comes, when Draco and Potter both come, rutting madly against each other, they shout the other's name, and it seems too wrong, too good, so Pansy can't stop the noise that escapes her mouth. Potter turns sharply and looks -- really _looks_ at her, and no matter how long they look at each other, neither looks away.

\---

Pansy Parkinson likes to participate.

They're playing by the rules, her rules, and even though Potter is giving orders, he's only giving them to Draco, who's spread across the desk, his trousers around his ankles, legs splayed apart, and he watches when Potter tells him to, watches as Potter pulls open her robes and pushes them to the floor, watches as Potter drops to his knees and looks up at her as his hands disappear underneath her skirt to hook his thumbs into her knickers and pull them down and off.

Draco doesn't protest, only moans, as Potter tells him exactly what Pansy's going to do with him, and as Potter stands and captures her face between hands that are stronger than they look, dropping his head so he can kiss her hard, fighting her tongue as she fights his, Pansy thinks that this fight for dominance might be all right, as long as Draco's there, too.

Draco whimpers when Potter releases Pansy so she can crawl onto the desk and sink onto Draco, and he doesn't move unless Potter says he can or Pansy _makes_ him.

She immediately decides that Potter's fingers and Draco's cock are highly preferable to her own hand, and when she comes, she gives Draco permission, too, and then he _does_ , which is a rush as high and as hot as she's ever had.

Draco is pink and panting and sweating, and as Pansy bends to capture his mouth before Potter can beat her to it, he looks startled as she whispers, "We'll need to rework the wedding."

END.


End file.
